For Part 1 of this “Life” post, click here.
By the end of 2003, the land of Australia was fast closing in. Dad had left a few weeks prior to our own departure, leaving us to say farewell to our family members. It’s important to know that when you live in a Spanish family, life can be a little… crowded. But alas, family is family right? We spent our remaining time in the warmth of our family – the days reserved for the odd family member we would see every once in a while, the nights being used to spend time with our grandparents.
But it was soon over. With a bag full of clothes and a handful of English phrases in tow, I boarded a plane for the first time. It was a rather ordinary flight but as you could probably guess, it was amazing through the eyes of my 6 year old self. I remember having the window-seat, and so I spent the next 24 hours staring at clouds. The excitement of being in a plane soon faded as the day turned into night; the white clouds into a dark sea. I shortly fell asleep.
I awoke as my mum nudged me in the shoulder, the newfound sunlight seeping in from the window. The plane was flying lower now, circling around the city of Sydney. It was something I had never seen before – high rises, buildings, bridges and roads stretched as far as I could see. As the plane started it’s descent, it became harder and harder to contain my excitement. The aircraft came to a pause, people shuffled their way outside and I suddenly found myself in the cold, neatly paved parking of the airport.
Dad had been waiting for us with a bright red minivan (which sadly, we don’t own anymore). We hopped on and 2 hours later, we had arrived in the middle of Australia’s suburbia – the Western Suburbs. At the time, I had a very little idea of how the world worked, how Australia worked and how long I would be staying here.
It never occurred to me that I would still be in the same suburb, 11 years later, writing about the same day.